


Choice of Drink

by Thranduil_is_a_bitchking



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Clara cameo, Dubious Consent, F/M, Oops, Smut, Some angst, lots of smut, the sex pollen fic no one asked for, this was supposed to be a oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6417730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thranduil_is_a_bitchking/pseuds/Thranduil_is_a_bitchking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He doesn't do this often enough. Downtime isn't something he's accustomed to, but the universe is safe, its biggest threat is sitting right in front of him at least, so he can relax and enjoy the company of his oldest friend/enemy while his current companion sleeps peacefully. "</p>
<p>(Or the smut laden, sex pollen fic that no one asked for)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am, back from my Twissy hiatus with a toe-curling smut fic! 
> 
> There may be some consent issues for some people, I've tagged that. I may leave it as it is, or I might continue it, it's up to you guys really. 
> 
> Any ways, enjoy!

This is nice, the Doctor thinks. He's here on some peaceful planet, sans-Clara, enjoying a drink in a nice, reasonably full, futuristic night club/bar/restaurant. Whatever. He isn't entirely sure. He doesn't really care.

He doesn't do this often enough. Downtime isn't something he's accustomed to, but the universe is safe, its biggest threat is sitting right in front of him at least, so he can relax and enjoy the company of his oldest friend/enemy while his current companion sleeps peacefully. 

He finishes his drink and looks up at her. She's sat, legs crossed neatly, stirring a drink of her own with something he can't quite make out in the half light of the room. He really doesn't know why she's bothered to come along, really, but Missy can be quite contrary when she wants to be. And after the desperation and longing in her eyes in the graveyard, he could never say no to her. Not that she'd asked. Actually, she hadn't. At all. It had been his suggestion, that they come here together. He'd found her at a market somewhere or another and had asked her to come. A good decision on his part he'd thought. 

Although the music isn't terribly loud, he catches himself tapping along to the beat. His skin is tingling and his hearts are beating slightly faster than normal. He puts it down to the alcohol and takes a moment to observe Missy while she's distracted. Her hair is loose, for once, cascading down her back in a waterfall of brown curls. It's longer than he thought it'd be, and it looks so soft. She looks strikingly beautiful in this light and- 

He catches himself before he can finish his mental sentence, forcefully derailing that train of thought. Although...

Missy looks up at him, feeling the weight of his eyes on her. Their gazes lock, but she's quick to look away, taking a sip from her drink just for something to do. It tastes a bit funny, but she thinks nothing of it. She feels restless, almost twitchy, and her senses seem heightened to almost an uncomfortable level. She knows the Doctor feels the same, can see the discomfort on his face. He orders them both another drink when a waitress passes, and she pushes her now empty glass further into the middle of the table. Taking a deep, steadying breath in, she notices the same, almost too-sweet taste in the air as well as the drink. Not knowing whether it's actually there or some weird, lingering aftertaste of the drink she's just had, she shrugs it off.

Uncomfortable, she stretches her back until it clicks. It makes no difference. 

"So, where's Clara?" She asks him, the only thing she can think of saying that isn't fuck me Doctor.

"I-in the TARDIS." He stutters, a blush creeping up his cheeks. He crosses his legs in a way he hopes is subtle, clearing his throat loudly. "Asleep."

"Didn't fancy bringing her?" 

He shakes his head. The silence between them is too long and too charged to be comfortable, both of them thrown for a loop. Missy stares into her drink, trying to understand this sudden, desperate need she's assaulted by while the Doctor flounders for something to say. 

"You look..." Amazing, gorgeous, sexy, "nice." He settles on, not sure about where these thoughts are coming from. Her fingers are thin and pale against her glass and he takes a moment to admire them, imagining somewhat distractedly the various other situations in which she could use them. He shakes his head to clear it of such dangerous thoughts, but it does nothing to abate his want for her. 

"Thanks." She says, a little amused and unsure. "You do too, I suppose."

And he does look nice, she thinks. Really nice. He takes a long gulp of his drink and her eyes follow the movement. Wanting nothing more than to put his mouth to better use, she chokes spectacularly on her drink as she thinks it, surprised at herself. She has no idea where the thought had come from and is slightly shocked by it. He's looking at her, concerned as she coughs into the back of her hand, drink still clutched in the other. Shifting, she recognises the feeling for what is so clearly is. 

Arousal.

He reaches out to touch her, to do what exactly he doesn't know. As soon as his fingers come into contact with her it's like a fire. His skin burns at the contact, his pupils dilate and God, he wants her. He needs her, and she needs him. She needs him to touch her, to fuck her. She's never needed anything like this before. Maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's biological, maybe it's both, but she needs him. 

They stand almost at the same time, he leaves enough money on the table to cover the bill and then they're outside. It's cold outside, bitterly so. She closes the gap between them almost instantly, there's no hesitation. She knows what they both need.

It's a miracle they find their way back to the TARDIS really. He doesn't remember much of it, too distracted by her and her wandering hands. Key out, he fumbles for the lock, the key slipping inside as she reaches down to cup the bulge in his trousers. It turns easily and the door swings open. They almost fall in, and he presses her up against the door as soon as it's closed, her back colliding with the wood. He kisses her, rough and desperate, biting down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. She arches up into him, desperate for any kind of release. He slips a leg in between hers and she grinds down onto it, chest heaving. He rocks his hips against hers, still kissing her aggressively, knotting his hands in her hair and pulling her towards him. Her hands fist in his jacket, dragging him impossibly closer. Then, they're sliding it off, the fabric slipping easily off of his arms and onto the floor. He growls, pulling her head back by her hair to expose the skin of her neck. His lips are on the flesh there, finding that sensitivity every Time Lord has and sucking on it. She moans loudly, head rolling back to hit the door behind her with a thunk. Neither of them are undressed.

She doesn't care. She needs him inside of her. Now.

He seems to share her sentiment, and he forgoes undressing her altogether, lifting up her skirt and sliding her underwear down her legs. They part just enough for her to shake them off, then they're crashing back into each other. Missy undoes the fly of his trousers with shaking hands, guiding him into her. He doesn't pause, he can't and she doesn't want him to. He pulls out and slams back into her. She cries out, both in pain and pleasure, her hands searching for something to find purchase on. One of her legs winds around his waist, and her fingers tangle in his hair as he sets a brutal pace. Something's digging into her back but she barely feels it. Something akin to a sob leaves her, her nerve endings on fire with a feeling she can't name. He's grunting into her neck, biting down on the soft flesh there, and it's too much and not enough all at once. His hands shake as he holds her, her nails are digging into his scalp as she gasps out curses and praise and moans.

He moans her name, over and over and over again, kissing her, touching her. She tilts her head forwards just enough for their foreheads to touch, and he feels her pleasure as intense as if it were his own. 

It's not enough for either of them and she growls in frustration. She feels as if she can't bare it, it's too much, too intense, but she needs it, she wants it like she's never wanted anything else. She wants him everywhere at once and then she's coming, thrown into a euphoric conclusion with a cry. He follows her, burying himself deep inside of her, throat burning, chest heaving. His knees buckle and she slides down the wooden door with him until she's in his lap.

It's still not enough. She's still not sated and neither is he. She kisses him, softer, more mindful than he'd been earlier. Her hearts are hammering in her chest, her breath coming short and fast. His fingers rake through her hair, smoothing out the knots he'd made. 

She can tell when whatever it is that's causing this kicks back in. She goes from wanting his hands off to suddenly wanting them everywhere. That momentarily abated want crashes over them again, and she kisses him more desperately. His fingers tighten in her hair, not painfully, and she rocks her hips against his again. 

The position is awkward, she hits her back against the door with every move, but his hands are a steadying burn on her hips. He's sat up, close enough to kiss her, but he's more occupied with her breasts. She digs her nails into his knees as she moans, and one orgasm rolls into two. He follows her, hips spasming beneath her. He's still hard, and neither of them are sated. 

"A regular occurrence for you?" She quips, chest heaving, hearts thudding too loud and too fast. His ears are ringing, his eyes glassy as he snorts out a breathless laugh. 

It's still not enough though. 

It occurs to her as well as him that whatever it was they were drinking was laced with some sort of aphrodisiac. 

She's not sure if she wants to do this again, not like this and certainly not on the floor. Agreeing, he pulls out and guides her gently to the centre of the room, both of them undressing as they go. He helps her up onto the console, holding himself back, making sure that she wants this. He won't so much as touch her if she doesn't want it, but a voice tells him that neither of them are in any state to consent to anything. 

Missy nods all the same, even if the rational part of her mind is unsure, her body needs him, and she can't argue. She's desperate again, needing that release. She knows he does too, and that neither of them will find it at their own hands. She sits up to kiss him, and there's fire in her movements. He struggles to hold himself back and she tells him not to, and then he's fucking her again. 

She closes her eyes, arching into him, desperate, needing. She's moaning his name, nails raking down his back. He's holding her so tightly he knows he'll bruise her, but she's begging him to go faster, harder. He needs this, he needs her. Her skin is cool compared to that of the humans he'd become so accustomed to. Her mental presence is driving him on, their shared pleasure heightening with each moment. 

It's over too fast, but it's still not enough. Both of them are frustrated, beginning to become tired, but still gripped by this clawing need. They can't stop. They're not even sure if they want to. Neither of them trust their own bodies by this point.

She loses track of how many times she comes, how many ways. On the floor, on the bed, up against the wall, on the console, on the stairs, on top of him, beneath him, in front of him. 

It's been hours. 

They're both so tired and they're lying on his bed. She doesn't quite remember how they got there, she's fairly sure he carried her, her legs around his waist, her kissing him feverishly. Now, his fingers are deep inside of her as she uses her hand to finish him off. Everything hurts, her stomach, her back, her legs. Her head rests on his shoulder as he kisses her languidly. Whatever it is they'd drank, it's wearing off and she's glad. She feels dirty and all she wants to do is shower and sleep for a year. 

He comes first, then her, both of them with nothing but a soft gasp. They wipe their hands in the nearest thing to them and he winds an arm around her. He can't help but feel guilty, and neither can she. They're ashamed, but too tired to move.

Neither of them sleep much, but they don't speak. She lies with her back to him, staring at the clock as he faces the ceiling, counting the seconds as they pass. He tries his hand at sleep, and is successful. Missy doesn't sleep. 

-0-

When the Doctor wakes, the bed is empty beside him and he can't help but feel relief. It's easier this way, he thinks. Not better, but certainly easier. 

Casting an eye over the clock, he sighs. It's late, but still too early for Clara to be awake. He sits up with a groan. He's sore and exhausted, and the first thing he does is change the sheets. That done, he showers. He smells of Missy and sex and he wants both gone before he has to face Clara. 

He's not sure if he'll ever be able to look her in the eye again.

He stands under the water, staring into nothingness. The water is far too hot but he doesn't care. He washes himself, mindful of the scratches on his back and the nail marks on his shoulders. He feels like crying, and maybe he does. 

He dresses almost meticulously. He combs his hair and leaves, picking up the trail of clothing leading from the console room to his room as he goes. He puts Missy's in the laundry and bins his own. Then, he goes for breakfast. 

He makes himself tea but doesn't drink it. Instead, he stares into the mug as if it would provide him will the answers. He'd fucked up. Astronomically. He'd fucked up not just because of...well everything, but also because, somewhere during the course of the evening, he'd come to a conclusion. And it wasn't a good one.

He doesn't look up as Clara wanders in, ruffled from sleep. She yawns, walks past him, pauses and then reverses back to stare at him. 

"You alright?" She asks him. He sighs but nods, downing his tea like a horrible, lukewarm shot and stands. 

"I'll be in the console room if you need me." He says, leaving before she has a chance to reply. He stands in the centre of the room, leaning on the console with his eyes closed. He's remembering. He wishes he wasn't. As much of a mistake the night before had been, as much as he feels like he's violated her, he wants to see her again. He's also plagued by a crippling fear of seeing her again. It's all incredibly confusing, and he bundles all of his thoughts and feelings on the matter together and shoves them into the recesses of his mind where, hopefully, he'll never have to revisit them again. 

When Clara walks in next, she's dressed, and he whisks her away to some amazing planet to take his mind off of the train-wreck his relationship with Missy has become.

-0-

Halfway across the galaxy, Missy sits, mug of coffee in hand, staring out into the universe. Full of regrets and guilt, she swallows. It could be funny, she supposes, how quickly everything went to shit. She's doubting herself and her reasoning now, as well as his. 

Had she wanted this all along? Had he? 

She doesn't know. She doesn't know much of anything anymore. She'd thought her feelings for the Doctor were black and white, but now there's so much grey and she doesn't know what to do with it. People always say that there's a fine line between love and hate. She'd felt both for him over the years, she knows what they both feel like. 

She'd loved him in the academy. Had really, properly loved him, but he'd left her. Then she'd hated him. Now, she isn't so sure. She wants to hate him. She really does, but she can't find it within herself. 

Missy thinks about crying, and maybe she does. She still aches, and there are bruises on her hips as well her back. She doesn't want to think about anything, but it suddenly occurs to her that they'd been far from careful, and that they're the same species, and that she's a woman.

Whatever. She'll deal with it if she needs to. She's made the executive decision to actively avoid him for as long as possible. She doesn't need to think about anything like that right now.

What she really needs right now, is a stiff drink.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two! It's a bit short, but the next one will be longer, I promise! 
> 
> At the moment, this is 3/4 chapters long, depending on how you guys react to this story as a whole. I personally think it has some potential to be a multi-chapter fic instead of a three-shot. But whatever, it's up to you all, really. :)
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

Missy can't believe it. She really can't. The one time she's on Earth, more for a business trip than for scheming, she's collared by UNIT. She'd checked, thoroughly checked, to see if the Doctor was going to be here, when and where, so that she could visit the person she's actually here to see without any chance of running into him.

Now, she has a very high chance. She's sat, chained and gagged in a holding cell. Kate's already told the Doctor and she feels when he arrives. She sits and waits for him, composing herself. 

Clara is the first to step into her field of vision. Missy makes the mistake of looking up. Her eyes meet the Doctor's as he walks in, and she quickly averts her gaze, her chains clinking as she shifts away from him. He clears his throat, lingering in the doorway even with Clara's odd look.

"What are you doing? Get in here!" Clara tells him and Missy sees him hesitate before he steps over the threshold, taking the steps slowly. Even once he's in the room, he skirts around the outside, avoiding her and her gaze. 

The Doctor can't help it. He can't. She looks so beautiful sat there, and he knows what it's like. He can't look at her hands without remembering the feel of them on him, can't hear her voice without hearing her beg and moan. Not that the voice would be an issue this time, but the metal gag is doing things to him. Things he'd never, ever, admit to.

Clara's looking at him expectantly, and he clears his throat of the lump in it. Opening his mouth to speak, the words die on his lips and he closes it again. The silence between them is long and heavy, the only sound that of the rain falling outside. She's looking everywhere but at him, and he's focused intently on the loose piece of thread on the sleeve of his jacket. Clara looks between them uneasily. She feels very much like she's intruding. On what exactly, she's not sure. 

"Um..." The Doctor says after a long while. "Why are you here?"

Missy looks at him like he's dumb, gesturing to the gag. He flushes with embarrassment, making a small, breathy 'oh' sound. The sound catapults her back into a sensory memory and she shifts uncomfortably. This isn't the sort of thing she wants to be thinking about while she's bound and gagged in his presence. Although, the part of her that, before, would have cringed away in disgust is a lot smaller and a lot more up for it. It scares her. 

The Doctor turns to Kate. "Let her go."

"What?"

"Just...let her go." He says, his voice slightly strangled. Being so close to her is killing him.

"I'm sorry, I can't." Kate apologises. 

"No!" The Doctor says, too loud and too fast. Missy shakes her head vehemently, sounding a groan low in the back of her throat. The Doctor's head snaps round to look at her, embarrassed at his body's reaction to it, and Missy holds his gaze. Missy senses that she may have some leverage here. She'll be damned if she's the only one uncomfortable with this situation. She'll make him squirm if she has to. 

She sits across from him, holding his gaze as she stretches like a cat. He can't help but stare. He almost chokes at the sinful sound that escapes her as she does. Missy knows what she's doing and he hates her for it.

He begs her to stop with his eyes, but she looks back innocently at him. Well. If it's teasing she wants, two can play at that game. Taking out his sonic, he unlocks the cell, stepping closer to her. 

Missy isn't sure what she's feeling when he begins to undo the chains around her wrists. Her hearts are pounding so loud in her chest she's afraid he'll be able to hear them. Her breath quickens and her mouth dries. She'd brought this upon herself. 

Once the chains are gone, he kneels down. Gaze locked with hers he gently runs his finger across the metal of her gag, dipping his thumb to ghost over her jaw. He hears her breath hitch and he's holding his own. He feels the catch to undo it, but he's momentarily distracted by how soft her hair is. He takes a second to run a piece through his fingers and feels her shiver. The latch clicks and the metal slides free. There's a moment where she thinks he might kiss her, but it's broken quickly. 

They become aware of everyone else in the room almost simultaneously. The Doctor stands quickly, putting as much distance between them as possible. Missy stands somewhat shakily, trying not to be too disappointed.

Both Clara and Kate look at them strangely. 

Missy rubs her wrists, missing the warmth of his touch. The Doctor follows the movement of her hands with his eyes, swallowing heavily. If Clara hadn't moved just slightly, he would've kissed Missy. He isn't sure if he would have been able to have stopped himself if he had. 

Missy steps out of the cell they were holding her in. She can't leave without passing the Doctor. He stands by the door, and she stops momentarily in front of him. She feels like she should say something to make it less awkward, but no words come. She offers him a weak smile instead and he dips his head once. Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat she turns and walks away. He watches her leave and walks to the TARDIS, pushing the door open with a halfhearted shove.

Kate shakes herself after a long moment, and she too leaves.

"What was all that about?" Clara asks the now empty room. As ever, she receives no answer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end to my glorious fic! I actually quite like how this chapter turned out. A fitting end for our favourite frenemies. 
> 
> As always, enjoy!

Peace and quiet are a rarity these days and no one knows that better than the Doctor. Clara has finally gone to bed and he's left blissfully alone. Humming quietly in Gallifreyan to himself, he waits for the kettle to boil. Nursing a bottle of milk in his hands, he leans against the counter, contemplating various things. These various things come down, mostly, to one very specific person. While he's loathed to admit it, the pain he feels in his chest when he thinks about her is a testament to his feelings. 

Missy. 

The Doctor is fucked. Well and truly, royally fucked. He can't stop thinking about Missy. It's usually at the most inappropriate of times. With Clara, or in the middle of some speech to whatever species that have offended him, or even in a life and death situation. She always manages to creep into his thoughts. Even while he's sleeping. 

Sighing heavily he turns around, annoyed by the screech coming from the kettle. He wastes no time in pouring himself his tea, and mixes in more sugar than what's strictly healthy. He makes his way to the console room, sipping his tea as he goes. 

Tea, the cure for all his ailments. 

He rounds the corner to the console room, making a beeline for the steps leading underneath the central column. Setting his tea to one side, he whips out his sonic and begins to work on those improvements he's been meaning to do for the past year and a half. 

He tries to work. He really does, but he keeps getting distracted. He simply can't stop thinking about her. Every waking moment she plagues his mind. His brain, replaying every single encounter he's had with her, and even some he hasn't. It's those ones he has to watch out for. The ones he's imagining. He has a lot of material to draw from, after all. They almost always catch him off guard, a certain word or situation prompting his overactive imagination to get to work. It's not fair, because he's supposed to be actively avoiding any and all things Missy.

Pocketing his sonic with a huff, he flexes his shoulders. Who is he even kidding? He's completely enamoured with the bloody woman.

"Damn you Missy." He curses, downing his tea in one gulp. A bad decision, it's freezing. He's clearly missed the optimum drinking temperature by about three millennia. "I hate you."

"Oh dear, and here I was thinking you actually tolerated me." A distinctly Scottish voice drawls, prompting the Doctor to choke on something that's probably his own shock. Cautiously standing, he slowly makes his way to the main area of the room. The leather of his shoes creaks slightly on the steps. He reaches the top, heart in his throat, and releases a breath he isn't aware he's been holding. There, in all her glory stands the Mistress. 

"Missy." He manages, suddenly forgetting how to speak. His face breaks into a smile despite his efforts. He's just so very glad to see her.

"Doctor." She says, biting her bottom lip. The Doctor's eyes are immediately drawn to the movement and he has to consciously avert his attentions. He lifts his gaze to meet hers, decides that it's a terrible idea, and promptly moves to the console, locking the controls. Missy's eyes follow his movements, but she herself remains still. The Doctor flounders for something to ease the tense atmosphere between them.

"You're...uh... You look...nice." He blurts quite untactfully, mentally slapping himself. Missy gives him an odd look, but thankfully says nothing. Instead, she moves to hang her umbrella on a nearby coatrack that's lurking in a corner. The Doctor's gaze is glued to her. She pretends not to notice his somewhat admiring stares. He pretends not to notice her pretending not to notice him. It's all a bit complicated, he thinks. The shift in dynamics between them isn't helping matters at all. It feels more awkward than ever, the air between them charged, volatile and unpredictable.

Turning back to him, Missy lets out a long sigh. The Doctor's struck by how tired she looks. Taking her in more closely, he notices how worn she is. The strapping on her left wrist is thick and speckled with red. Not thinking, he walks over to her and takes her hand in his. Concerned eyes check her for any other obvious injury, and he gently unwraps the gauze from around her wrist. Gaze flicking to her face, he sees the wide-eyed astonishment there. The openness of her gaze reveals just how shocked she actually is. His touch burns her skin, familiar and so, so welcomed. 

"What happened?" He asks quietly, voice gentle, soft. She shrugs, unable to pull her hand away. She wants to, a part of her screams at her to rip her hand away and leave. That part is small compared to the one that relishes his touch. The pain from the blistered burn on her wrist subsides as his cool fingertips ghost over her skin. She shivers. She wants those hands everywhere, and this time, it's her thoughts. No aphrodisiac, no nothing. She wants him. Badly.

"Vortex manipulator burnt out." She explains eventually, her voice equally as low. He begins to wrap the bandages back around her wrist. Missy stands there, mesmerised by his meticulous care. 

"Doctor..." She begins. He hushes her, and she closes her mouth, her teeth meeting with a gentle click. He drops her hand, but doesn't step back. Missy is struck quite suddenly by the cold feeling of loss that engulfs her. She's already missing his touch. He lets his eyes wander over her, committing every detail to memory. Who knows how long it would be before he'll see her again? 

"Koschei." The Doctor breathes out, her name carrying like a prayer on an afternoon breeze. Overwhelmed by the need to touch her, he hesitantly reaches up and cups her cheek, thumb ghosting over her cheekbone. Breath noticeably hitching, she unconsciously leans into his familiar touch, eyes fluttering briefly closed. 

"Theta." She replies, meeting his gaze with as much certainty as she can muster. Her hand goes up to rest on his, gentle and uncertain. Surprisingly self-conscious (she's done far more than hold his hand for Rassilon's sake), she allows her eyes to momentarily drop to his lips. She certainly hadn't come with this intention. The TARDIS was the only signal she could lock onto in her desperate escape attempt from some planet or another. It's an unexpected, yet not unwelcomed. 

The Doctor leans in and she meets him halfway, lips meeting his with hesitancy she's never known. This is so unlike last time. Last time was frenzied and heated. Driven by lust and need. This is uncharted waters. She finds that she has no idea how to proceed. 

Hands sliding up his arms to rest on the back of his neck, she pulls him closer, pressing herself flush against him. His own hands find their way to her waist, fingers gripping her securely.

They both pull back breathless. Missy's still locked in the Doctor's embrace, so close she can feel his hearts beating in his chest. For what seems like forever, they're caught in each-other's gaze, Missy's lips slightly parted as she tries to control her breathing. 

He offers her his hand and she takes it, allowing him to lead her to his bedroom. Once there, he takes a moment to just look at her. Then, he kisses her. Gentle and loving. She sighs against him, hands finding their way to his neck. She pulls back, a small smile pulling at her lips.

Time seems to halt, both of them locked in the moment. His hand comes up to gently unpin her hair. He uses the other to pull her impossibly closer, leaning in and capturing her lips once more. Moving backwards, he guides her to his bed, the backs of her knees hitting the wooden bed-frame. They fall back onto it, his hands taking almost all of his weight, lips still locked with hers. Letting out a quiet, breathy moan, she tilts her head back as he explores the skin of her neck. His teeth gently nip at the pale flesh he finds there, soothing over the areas that would certainty leave a mark with his tongue. He murmurs words of praise, his mouth now on hers as he works at unfastening her jacket. Her nimble fingers make light work of the shirt he's wearing. Her palms are flat against his chest, nails digging into his flesh slightly as he nips at her bottom lip, eliciting a small gasp from her. 

He runs into a bit of a snag when he reaches her corset. Her blouse and skirt are already lying in the ever-growing pile of clothes on the floor, and he wants so desperately to rid her of it. It's a bit too complicated for him.

"I'm sure I did this last time..." He says, more to himself than her. Missy kisses him, giggling quietly as he tries and fails to undo it. Gently removing his hands, she sits up and reaches behind herself. With a dexterity that surprises him, she unlaces it and lets it fall to the floor. Satisfied, the Doctor takes a long moment to admire her, the curve of her breasts, the flat, toned expanse of her stomach. 

Kissing her soundly, he can't help but praise her. 

"You're so beautiful." He says against her mouth, over and over. He presses the words into her jawline, the skin of her neck, her prominent collarbones, her breastplate. He pays particular attention to her breasts, spurred on by the sharp gasps and breathy moans he's coaxing from her with his teeth. His name tumbles from her lips in worship, her toes curling in the boots she's yet to remove. Tugging him gently up by his hair, she claims his lips with her own. Her deft fingers undo his belt and fastenings, her hand teasing him through the fabric. 

"Oh fuck, please..." He almost whines, hips canting upwards into her hand. She smiles against his lips, gently nipping at his bottom lip as she pulls back. Putting her skillful fingers to work, she takes the time she couldn't take last time around. 

Nipping playfully at his navel, she kisses his thigh, one hand on his hip to steady herself as she takes him into her mouth. He groans, lips parting as he knots his fingers in her hair, words of praise escaping with each breath. He comes shockingly fast, a low cry dragged from his throat. It sounds suspiciously like her name, but he'll deny that until the day he dies.

She pulls back, a smirk on her lips as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Pupils dilated, eyes not hazy with drugs, her hair falling freely down her back, the Doctor has never seen her so beautiful. He coaxed her onto her back, explores her body with his mouth more carefully than before, nipping and kissing her bare flesh. His fingers delve into the wet heat that pools between her legs. A desperate whine escapes her, her hips bucking up into his hand. Nothing too hard, nothing too fast, nothing that speaks of intrusion or of an intention to overmaster her. Just soft, steady strokes of his fingers undoing her.

Suddenly she fists her hands in his hair, dragging him upwards towards her mouth. He he's already achingly hard again, and he slides into her with familiarity and ease. He pauses to allow her to adjust, kissing her lazily, lovingly. They build up a slow rhythm, rocking against each other, their mouths locked together. Her nails drag up his back, the Doctor swallowing her moans as he becomes more urgent, his fingers bringing her closer and closer to the edge. Missy's legs wrap tighter around him as she breaks the kiss enough to breathe, mewling softly as he adjusts his angle. His mouth latches onto the pale expanse of her neck, leaving a mark he knows will be visible. She repays him by raking her nails down his back, the scratches stinging pleasantly. Her moans are becoming increasingly louder, her head thrown back, strings of unintelligible Gallifreyan tumbling past her lips.

With one final pleasured cry of his name, his real name, she comes. Muscles contracting as her vision whitens, her world fills with ecstasy. The Doctor follows soon after, biting into the skin of her neck to muffle his embarrassingly loud moan, spilling deep inside of her. 

Breathing heavily, he kisses her lazily, dropping down to lay beside her. She moves to rest her head on his chest and he cards his fingers through her hair. Legs tangled together, the coolness of her body beside him is comforting and familiar. His gaze is soft, gentle and she practically melts under the adoration she finds there. She kisses him again, unable to help herself and he pulls her closer. 

"I love you." He admits against her lips, kissing her again. She smiles, her thumb fondly running over his cheek. 

"I love you too." She says, leaning up to kiss him. Then, she settles down, slipping her legs under the covers. He follows her lead, his grip on her tightening protectively. In some, roundabout way, he's glad all this has happened. After all, the bad girl always gets the good guy. 

And it all came down to their choice of drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there we have it! This story is finished! Finito! 
> 
> Please drop a comment! I love to know what you guys think!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


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